


I Will Appear to You

by andwhatyousaid



Category: Actor RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, M/M, MTV Movie Awards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andwhatyousaid/pseuds/andwhatyousaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only One Direction had been at the MTV Movie Awards when Tom Hiddleston name-dropped Liam Payne in his acceptance speech, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Appear to You

**Author's Note:**

> So, this happened. AU of the MTV Movie Awards where One Direction are there for no particularly good reason (and where girlfriends cease to exist because those lovely ladies deserve far better than this). I'd link to the recent Tom Hiddleston & Liam Payne interaction if I could figure out how to embed them. Sorry I'm dumb at the internet, and when I write. Hopefully you've all seen it. 
> 
> Any/all comments and love are very much appreciated! Thank you for reading. Disclaimer: Entirely fiction.

Tom hadn’t exactly known who was on or off the attendance list when he’d referenced Liam Payne in his acceptance speech. Joss had shown him the picture on Liam’s twitter of the husky, Loki, and Liam’s admittedly quite nice smiling face when they’d first arrived and been sat next to each other around the same table. Then Chris had leaned over to peek at Joss’ phone and grin, his eyebrows lifting, saying, “If you win, you should do it, you should absolutely do it.” It’d not even taken one full drink for Tom to agree. Why not.

You’d think someone would have told him that there’s ridiculously famous international popstars in the midst (and aren’t they supposed to be on some hugely massive worldwide arena tour or summat). Maybe he should have known from the sheer level of screaming after he’d said Liam’s name, or the camera cutting away, not that he could really tell at the time.

He feels a bit blindsided is all, like there had to have been more of a warning, signs he must’ve missed that led to Liam Payne actually walking towards him from across the room after the last award’s been given out and everyone’s hesitating to rise from their seats, the talk growing louder in a noisy murmur. Liam Payne’s face looks just as nice as it had on Joss’ phone, if not more so, clear and open, biting at his bottom lip like he’s thinking or nervous, but his eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile, the sleeves of his clean, posh button-down rolled up to linger around his elbows, his tattoos crawling up his forearms barely visible from the distance. Tom spots him before Liam gets too close, doing a double take when he sees him growing nearer. It’s enough time for him whisper to Chris, “Is that -- Christ, is that actually him, or am I dreaming? Would you, can you pinch me if I need you to?”

Chris’ eyebrows run together in confusion before he glances past Tom’s shoulder to inevitably find Liam Payne’s face in the crowd, and Tom knows the second Chris’ eyes land on him; his face opens up in a laugh immediately, and he covers his mouth with his hands. “Sorry,” Chris says. He’s giggling. “Sorry, that’s great, What, I can’t believe he’s here. This is great.” He claps Tom on the shoulder. “You can thank him in person. It’ll be official. Where the fuck is Joss, he needs to see this.”

Tom’s laughing too, a little helplessly, “Shush.” He straightens his suit jacket, fixes his collar. “It’s not everyday you meet popstars. Come on, pull it together, don’t embarrass me.”

Chris raises his hands in apology, obviously trying to stifle his laugh.

Then, there’s a hesitant presence beyond Tom’s shoulder, waiting. He can feel it, can see the shadow blanketing the corner of the white tablecloth in front of him. He wets his mouth and turns slowly, attempting to smile not quite so maniacally.

Liam’s standing hardly a half foot away, one of his hands curled into the bottom of his shirt, grinning like he’s absolutely delighted in a sort of undeniable way. He says, “Hi, er, sorry, I hope I’m not -- interrupting or anything.” He offers his hand. “Thanks for that shout out, I’m Liam Payne, thought I should introduce myself in person.”

Tom’s a bit struck by how low Liam’s voice is and -- how old is he? He can’t be more than eighteen, can he? He smiles back and stands up deliberately to take Liam’s hand, shaking it warmly. “Oh, yes, Liam, you’re quite welcome, my pleasure. I didn’t know you were here.” He huffs a laugh. “Otherwise, might’ve thanked you in person from the start.”

Liam doesn’t let go of his hand right away, his palm warm but not sweaty, looking up at Tom through his eyelashes -- and it’s not like he’s short, can’t be more than a few inches shorter than Tom, but jesus, did the brightness of his smile just increase by about a few watts, maybe that happens the closer you get to it, and does he always go around with his eyes looking like that, huge and dark. Liam laughs and says, “Right, yeah, kind of a last minute thing, I’m a huge fan, though. That was wicked, honestly. Can’t believe this is -- can’t believe I’m really meeting you.”

Tom finally withdraws his hand, glancing to Liam’s face and away again. “Yeah,” he says. “That makes two of us.” He smiles, inviting, “How is your dog, by the way? I’ll have to meet him sometime, you know, so you can introduce him to his unofficial namesake.”

Liam’s face lights up even further if that’s possible, and any lingering hint of nerves that might’ve been there, any hesitance disappears as he pulls his phone out from his front pocket -- and does he always have to wear trousers that’re that tight, something in his contract? How did he get his hand to fit in there? Maybe they’re deceiving, his legs look pretty little. Firm, but little, especially in contrast to the way his shoulders stretch, broad like his chest. He steps closer to Tom and thumbs his phone awake, saying, “Oh, thanks, yeah, he’s amazing, he’s a miniature husky, been wanting one for ages, my mate Zayn, he’s my bandmate too actually, he’s got a dog, got him a bit ago, I’ve just been waiting for the right time, you want to see -- can I show you a picture? I’ve, this is just mad, I’ve got to show you a few good ones, Loki’ll love it when I tell him later, or, well, he’ll bark at me.” He laughs but it’s light, breathless, more of an exhale than anything. 

Tom very carefully ignores whether Chris is laughing hysterically or not somewhere behind him and tries not to imagine whether he’s got his head in his hands or is busy snapping shots of this while Tom leans further into Liam’s space, amused and a feeling a bit helpless in the face of Liam’s enthusiasm, looking around his shoulder, standing close enough that they could be touching although they’re not, close enough to smell Liam’s cologne and aftershave if he breathes in more deeply.

Liam’s holding his phone out in front of them, sliding through photos of him and his dog in various rooms and positions, pointing and narrating. Tom tries to _ooh_ and _aww_ in all the proper places. Some look like they’ve been taken on a tour bus, a bunk bed edging in the background, clothes strewn on the floor. Some feature Liam’s shirt half-ridden above his belly-button, three inches of his boxers sticking out above his jeans as Loki sits on his stomach or wrestles with him, and he really is an adorable puppy, both of them are, but Tom tries not to think about those ones too much. He tries not to think about the fact that he’s living just about every pre-teen to teen to young adult girl’s and, he’s sure, boy’s dream. He’s a fucking internationally famous actor. He’s performed Shakespeare with arguable well-deserved acclaim, for god’s sake. It’s only Liam Payne from One Direction.

Liam Payne does have a rather endearing face, though. Especially if he insists on grinning like that. Or licking at his lips like that. It’s still no reason for Tom’s pulse to betray him and beat a little more quickly against his ribs as if he’s standing outside in the press pulpit, waiting his turn to speak, a camera pushed into his face, as if he’s about to walk onto a live stage.

Before Tom gets the chance to work through his existential crisis, he hears a voice deeper and slower than Liam’s call out Liam’s name, and he glances up from Liam’s phone to see Harry Styles coming to a halt in front of them, looking as though he’s walked right out of a magazine cover or photo shoot, his hair curling perfectly away from his forehead, his mouth crooked around a smile so that dimples press into his cheeks, the pocket square in his blazer sitting upright, the exact right amount of accent for his outfit.

Tom looks between Liam and Harry Styles, ready to introduce himself, but Liam jumps in before he can, turning his bright grin onto Harry, saying, “Haz, sorry, look who I’ve found, this is, this is actually Tom Hiddleston,” pointing to Tom with his thumb. Then Liam looks up at Tom, his teeth perfectly straight and white. “Tom Hiddleston, this is my mate, or, erm, one of my other bandmates, Harry Styles.”

Harry offers him a hand much the same as Liam had, and Tom takes it, smiling back at Harry, trying not to look too closely at his dimples. “Oh, it’s a pleasure,” he says. “I’ve heard a lot about you, all good things, I can assure you. Sorry I couldn’t fit you into my speech, as well.”

Harry laughs and tilts his head in a way that seems to focus all of his attention onto Tom suddenly, as if Harry’s leaning in further just to hear what Tom specifically has to say, his eyes warm but intense, tuned in, watching. Harry says, “Pleasure’s all mine, I really admire your work.” His words come out slowly, rolling off of his tongue. He pauses to wet his mouth. “Suppose I’ll have to find my own pet to name after a superhero if I want a shout out.” He lets go of Tom’s hand almost as slowly as he spoke, like an accidental caress.

Tom blinks a couple of times, looking away from Harry Styles’ face only to find Liam Payne’s blossoming grin, his nose wrinkled, his eyes crinkling up, pocketing his phone back into his jeans.

After a moment, Harry tucks in closer to Tom, his hair nearly brushing Tom’s cheek, and he’s quite tall, not as tall as Tom, but he must be a bit taller than Liam, his shoulders are massive. He says so close to the side of Tom’s face that Tom can feel it, mock-whispering, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to steal him back, we’re trying to sneak out the back, skip the carpet,” although it seems he has no idea how to actually whisper if he thinks he’s anywhere near Tom’s ear.

Tom says, “Oh, yes, of course,” smiling, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Of course,” he says again. “Thank you, you know.” He gestures at Liam, who’s still standing quite close to him, and Liam's laughing, delighted, thanking him in return before requesting a hug, looking a bit like he’s surprised the words came out of him but retaining eye contact, his lashes looking longer than ever.

Liam’s solid and warm but narrow when Tom hugs him, smelling more strongly of his cologne and boy, the angle of his jaw seeming sharp, defined when Tom catches it out of his peripherals. For the briefest moment, as he glances over Liam’s shoulder while they hug, he thinks he sees Harry Styles’ eyes narrow a bit, his mouth turning down, twisting almost, but when they pull back, Harry’s just as charming as before, shaking Tom’s hand politely.

Then Harry wraps his arm around Liam’s waist, his hand large and spread out against Liam’s side, almost holding him back while Liam leans forward as they say a final goodbye.

Tom watches them wander out of the room, Liam gesturing excitedly, his jaw working like it’s moving a mile a minute, his mouth looking full and pink even from so far away. He can’t see Harry’s face with the angle, but he imagines him watching Liam too, his eyes steady as they track down the side of Liam’s face. Then, he shakes himself and turns around to find Chris standing there, his mouth folded in like he’s containing his laughter, squinting at Tom.

Tom says, “What?” He brushes down his shirt like he’s wiping dirt away. “Didn’t do so bad, did I?”

 

*

 

Harry tightens his arm around Liam’s waist as they wind through the mess of tables towards the back of the large open room. Liam feels it even as he’s mid-word, saying, “That was so, that was mad, Harry, what are the chances, I mean. I can’t believe I showed him pictures of my dog, I’m such an idiot.”

Harry’s hand rubs soothingly against his back, brief. “No,” he says. “Don’t say that, you’re not.” He glances at Liam, and Liam catches how his eyes look dark, as though his pupils are expanding. He says, “He clearly didn’t think so,” his voice lower.

They dodge around men and women dressed in all black, their headsets resting around their necks, and Liam puts his hand to Harry’s shoulder for balance, feeling himself frown slightly. “You think?” He says, tilting his head, considering. He’s trying to remember what Tom Hiddleston’s face had looked like, the things he’d said; his voice had washed over him, smooth and easy -- it’d all happened so fast, seemed like no time passed at all between when Liam had first stepped up to Tom, unable to decide how to first say hello, say his name, what to call him, and Harry interrupting, coming to find him and reel him back to the other lads so they could make a clean escape without too much press. Tom had smiled the whole time, he’s sure of that. It was sort of shockingly blinding up close. His eyes were quite blue, much moreso than Liam had expected, and he was rather tall. It’d been hard to look right at him, but he seemed genuinely interested. He hadn’t asked Liam to put his phone away or anything -- he’d even given him a hug at the end, free of complaint or obvious signs of distress.

Harry tells him, “Of course,” as they turn down a corridor, finally breaking free from the main room. He sounds sure, convinced. “There’s no question about it.” His hand slides up Liam’s back to squeeze at the back of his neck in reassurance. He leans in closer to say into Liam’s ear, his mouth brushing the edges of it. “It’s obvious you’ve made quite the impression.”

Liam turns his head quickly, almost smacking his cheek and jaw into the front of Harry’s face to look at him. “What, even though we barely spoke?” He says and scratches at his cheek, watching as Harry’s mouth seems to tighten, dropping his smile. He can’t puzzle out Harry’s tone.

Harry hums in affirmation, and then they swing around another corner, heading for the back doors.

Before they can reach the doors though, Harry drags his hand down Liam’s wrist and tugs him in another direction, down a wider hallway, murmuring, “Hang on, come here for a moment.”

Liam says, “Wait, we’re going to be late -- isn’t, isn’t that what you got me for? Where is everyone else, by the way.”

Harry glances back at him over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. He grins after, his front teeth showing, his dimples appearing. His eyes have the same darkened look they’d had before.

Harry takes Liam all the way to the edge of the hallway, just before two doors with emergency exit signs hung over them. Then he pushes Liam sideways into a loo Liam hadn’t noticed was there. The bathroom’s a bit dim inside, obviously one of the less nice rooms, but the tile is still crisp and clean, smelling fresh, even if the sink doesn’t have the extravagant vanity Liam had seen in the one out front, or the fancier hand towels.

He straightens his shirt out as he turns around to watch Harry step through the threshold and lock the door. “Did you have to go? Why didn’t you just say so, you’re so weird.” He gestures towards the toilet when Harry does little more than lean up against the door, his grin shifting so that it's only touching the corners of his mouth, looking right into Liam’s face. Liam says, “Go on, get on with it then.”

Harry laughs quietly and says, “Alright,” holding his hands up in front of him. “If you insist,” he says before he comes up to Liam and kisses him on the mouth, his hands immediately moving to hold Liam’s face on either side, his thumbs rubbing over the line of his jaw.

Liam makes a surprised sound, but he settles his hand on the small of Harry’s back over his blazer and kisses him in return, pressing closer. Harry makes a noise in response, like that’s what he was waiting for, and his grip on Liam becomes more sharp, his mouth dropping open into the kiss.

Liam lets Harry back him up against the wall closest to them as they kiss. Harry’s moving with haste, tugging at Liam’s bottom lip with purpose, sliding his tongue into his mouth to touch Liam’s. Liam moans into him, unable to help it -- feels Harry’s hands rucking up the back of his hair, sliding down his neck, his chest so close to Liam’s that Liam can feel it whisper against him as he breathes out.

Liam breaks away when his lungs clench in his chest as if there’s no oxygen for them to grasp at, and he breathes heavily into the side of Harry’s throat, his hands around Harry’s hips under his blazer, fisting at his sides. He says, “Christ, Haz.” He runs his mouth along Harry’s jaw to hear him make a noise, pressing a kiss there.

Harry’s hands are tucked into Liam’s back pockets, and flexes them, tugging Liam further into his body until he’s pressed completely up into him. Harry’s mouth finds his ear, his breath sounding loud, harsh, while he says, low, “I want you.”

Liam breathes in and moves his mouth up to kiss Harry again. Harry seems to take that as an immediate yes, working to untuck Liam’s shirt, pulling it out of his jeans roughly, starting to unbutton it from the bottom up before Liam’s realized what’s happening. He makes a sound, half-surprise, half-groan and lets go of Harry’s sides to reach for Harry’s hands, trying to still them. He says, “Wait,” against Harry’s mouth, but Harry only uses his open mouth to press in closer, moaning quietly and intimately into him. Liam forgets and kisses him for a minute, and then feels the backs of Harry’s fingers and knuckles graze against his bare stomach, so he says again, “Wait, Harry,” pulling back sharply.

Harry’s still leaning forward, angled like he’s trying to find Liam’s mouth again, his own mouth looking remarkably red and wet, smeared with spit, his eyes fluttering open, his eyebrows beginning to wrinkle together, his cheeks flushing, his hands held in Liam’s and paused in Liam’s shirt that’s at least half undone. “What,” Harry says, starting to frown.

Liam says, “Just.” He rubs his thumbs in small circles on the backs of Harry’s hands. “Not that this isn’t -- you know, but do we. Um, don’t we have a car to catch, if I’m not mistaken?”

Harry sighs like he’s relieved and he flips the hold Liam has on his hands to pull him closer, right into his body again. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s --,” he gestures vaguely into the air and then runs his hand through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead. Liam reaches a hand out to help him. Harry gives him a smile in thanks while he says, “It’s been sorted, don’t worry about it.”

Liam narrows his eyes and tries to think exactly how it could’ve been sorted -- did Harry ask for a delayed car and tell the lads? He’d had to have planned this or something, had some depth of foresight. But then Harry’s kissing him again, opening his mouth up and Liam decides it’s best to not worry after all.

It isn’t until Harry’s jacket has been thrown onto the floor, his top buttons undone and his shirt untucked, as he’s unbuttoning Liam’s jeans and sliding the zipper down to feel him hard against his hand that it clicks for Liam, albeit slowly. Harry’s rather distracting.

His face is so close to Liam’s, close enough to kiss, his forehead against Liam’s neck, his mouth turned redder and wetter, moaning into his skin as his hand closes around Liam’s cock and Liam jerks his hips up, groaning, tightening his grip on Harry’s arse and shoulder. Harry says, “God, you’re so fucking hot,” groaning as he thumbs over the head of Liam’s cock and feels where he’s becoming slick with precome. “You know that?” He says, removing his hand from Liam’s briefs to lick his palm, which makes Liam feel like his eyes are rolling back in his head, air twice as difficult to take in, thrusting his hips up into nothing. Harry slides his hand back down Liam’s cock, jerking him. “You’re so gorgeous,” he says and kisses Liam messily, biting.

Liam realizes somewhere between the fog expanding in his head worse than ever and Harry gripping his bicep, saying, “Your fucking arms,” moving his fist more quickly around Liam, squeezing on an upstroke, groaning into Liam’s shoulder.

Liam manages to gasp out, “Hang on,” trying not to moan too loudly when Harry starts mouthing at his neck, sucking at the skin beneath his ear. “You were,” he says, thrusting up into Harry’s hand. He wants to look at Harry’s face, but it’s hard enough to get the words out at all with the way Harry’s hand is so warm against him, tight but not too tight, stroking him at just the right pace, his lips pressed to Liam’s jaw, nosing underneath his chin, making nearly as much noise as Liam is. “Were you jealous?” He says, his voice raspy and uneven. He feels Harry’s hips thrust into his thigh, the bulge in his trousers obvious and stiff.

Harry pulls back to look into Liam’s face, his cheeks and the column of his neck flushed, his pupils blown apart, his mouth open and more red than Liam remembered. Liam moans at the sight of him, pushing his hand over his mouth to muffle the noise as he thrusts up into Harry’s hand. Harry knocks his hand away and says, “Shut it,” before kissing him, dragging his tongue into Liam’s mouth.

When he pulls away this time, he wastes no time dropping to his knees, tugging Liam’s jeans open further and shoving them down to his thighs, looking up at Liam with his eyes a bit narrowed, almost daring, although his eyelashes look longer than ever. Liam lets his hands fall to Harry’s shoulders, slide through his hair when Harry grips the base of his cock and then takes him into his mouth.

It’s impossible not to make much sound after that. He thrusts up helplessly into Harry’s mouth, even as Harry’s large hands hold his hips taut, his fingers pressing firm into Liam’s skin. It’s impossible not to come quickly too, and he does, holding onto the back of Harry’s head, his breath coming in too fast for him to moan, leaving a high, keening, breathless noise in its wake as Harry swallows him.

Harry wipes his wrist across his mouth after, and Liam’s trying to calm enough to take in any amount of air that might make his head feel less light, less detached from his body, but he reaches for Harry’s hand anyway and tugs him up, drawing him in close. Their hands get tangled up in one another as they unbutton Harry’s trousers. When Liam’s got his hand around Harry’s hot, hard cock, kissing the side of Harry’s face briefly when Harry moans and collapses into him, thrusting openly against him, he says, “Fuck.” And then, “Were you really?”

Harry shakes his head against Liam’s shoulder, thrusting up into him. He’s already slick from leaking in his pants, and the way he’s working his hips, clawing at Liam’s bare side beneath his shirt and his shoulder lets Liam know he’s close. Liam twists his hand on an upstroke, slides his thumb across Harry’s slit, watching his mouth fall open, his face screwing up. Harry moans, low and stretched out as he comes all over Liam’s fingers.

They use most of the paper towels and one of the hand dryers to clean themselves up. Harry’s just finishing arranging his hair in the mirror by the time Liam’s tucked his shirt back in the way he thinks it was, looking as close to unmussed as he’s going to get.

Harry sees Liam watching through the mirror and his mouth slides around a grin, his hands pausing in his hair. He turns around to kiss Liam, his closed lips warm and wet, and then says in an utterly raspy voice, “Come on, we’ve a car to find.”

Liam holds his hand and lets himself be lead out, his head still feeling loose and quivering, his heart still pounding. Harry looks back at him before they leave the loo, his smile crooked. “Might’ve been, you know, jealous,” he says. “Just a little.”

 


End file.
